A new plan

The hunt for a full-time job continues, and I would like to switch strategies.

Do you have a job you would like to offer me? If so, email me a job description, including hours, starting salary, and why I won't feel like I'm wasting my time and energy and bachelor's degree at your workplace. Then I will interview you, and I will expect you to impress me despite your nerves.

If I am not impressed, I may or may not give you the courtesy of a rejection letter. I might just string you along for awhile, just to see you jump every time your phone rings during business hours.

---

Also, The Pub, a Wheaton College magazine I wrote for a time or two, has a blog now.

On this blog is an essay I wrote about Shakespeare and liturgy and an article I helped a friend edit and revise.

It does not do a body good.

"You're not sick, you're just a person," says John Campbell. I had always taken this for granted, that being sick and tired and unfocused was part of being a person, especially a person recovering from college and a couple of years on an antidepressant. Apparently, though, lethargy, lack of focus, and depression are part of being allergic to milk.

My new doctor, an osteopath, has me hold allergens or touch pressure points while he plays a game Blade and I like to call "Flops or Not Flops" (F/NF). If the doctor pushes on my leg and I'm able to resist, then whatever allergen or pressure point I'm touching isn't a problem for me. But if it makes my leg flop down on the table, he runs more related tests to narrow down the problem. Using the patented F/NF method, Dr. Gelband of Naperville determined that my chief problem (besides being overmedicated) was milk. I'm allergic to milk. Apparently, I've been allergic to milk for a long time, but I've never been tested for it, because I didn't notice my stomach hurting.

Dr. Gelband backed up his F/NF New Age feel-goodery with a conventional x-ray. Behind my ribs, I could see what looked like an extra, coiled up bone. "That's food," Dr. Gelband told me. It was food in my intestine that had calcified. Because of milk. It wasn't necessarily making my stomach hurt, but it was keeping me from getting energy from any of my food.

Unlike someone who is lactose intolerant, I can't just take a pill with an enzyme to make it better. I just have to avoid dairy. I'm learning that we make most things with milk. Frozen vegetables or chicken are often injected with butter. Whey is in things like cookies; casein is sometimes used as a filler in over-the-counter drugs and tends to creep into all kinds of seemingly innocent foods, like soy cheese.

However, also unlike someone who is lactose intolerant, I am able to eat dairy-ish things, as long as they come from goat or sheep milk, like feta cheese. And I can eat some kinds of yogurt, as long as they have live cultures. I can even have some kinds of well-aged cheese, like Romano.

The safest foods are the ones marked vegan or parve. I can consistently eat Asian food, since most Asian food doesn't use milk at all. (When's the last time you had Chinese food with cheese or butter?) My doctor said, though, to be wary of Asian food places that are owned by Americans, because they might have changed the recipes and added milk to the soups and sauces. I eat a lot of fried rice, egg rolls, and extra-dark chocolate with almond milk, so that is nothing to complain about.

Almond milk and soy ice cream are delicious. This has not stopped me from having stress dreams about Dairy Queen.

---

'Cause calcium is deadly
But tender to the tooth
And it's one sure-fire way to know
If you're MX missile-proof
Or if you're just aloof.

It's a job. It's a job.

Since graduation, I have only been unemployed for a total of one month. In fact, I am on four separate payrolls right now.

1. Teas and Toes, Glen Ellyn

I brew loose leaf tea and get to drink any leftover samples. I'm learning a lot about the health benefits of loose leaf tea, as well as the different sensitivities of different varieties. That accounts for the "Teas" part. The "Toes" part means that I prepare foot soaks -- hot river stones, deep copper bowls, detoxifying foot soaks, aroma therapeutic salts, rose petals -- and then clean up after the client has left. I also do a lot of explanations about the differences between a pedicure or traditional foot massage and a reflexology treatment. The best part is sitting in a zero-gravity chair.

2. Christian Youth Theater, DuPage

I teach the Advanced Improv class to 12-18 year olds. (In my class, it's more like 12-16 year olds.) Teaching middle and high school students is a whole different ballgame than teaching college students. Younger students are more likely to feel paralyzed by their peers' preconceptions and expectations. College freshmen and transfers still have that new-start feeling and don't think they've got each other pigeon holed before practice even starts. That accounts for some of it. But the CYT kids continually surprise me with fun character choices, and it makes me itchy to find a place to play again.

3. The Reading Tree, Downers Grove

Unlike the above jobs, this one does not have a regular, weekly schedule. The Reading Tree initially hired me to teach a sentence diagramming course, sort of a grammar boot camp, for kids transferring from public to private schools. They've kept me on their list of tutors and call me when they need someone to tutor a student in phonics, grammar, literature, or reading comprehension. This will get busier, I predict, after report cards come out and kids are threatened with groundings if they don't get those grades up.

4. Bundles of Books and Gifts, Glen Ellyn

This feels like volunteer work, but it's great. Basically, I categorize and shelve used books for a few hours per week. In return, I get store credit. That adds up to several free books every week. I spend most of my shelving time working on the mystery section and romance section, which seem to collect the most donations. I entertain myself by holding a contest (in my head) for most ridiculous title. The winner so far? Highland Vampire, a Harlequin(ish) romance. It's actually in it's second or third printing right now. The mind reels.

It rather feels like my fifth job is getting healthy. Lately, I'm at the doctor about three times a week on average. But that's another post.

We're all just taller children.

Meredith and I are in the process of moving to an apartment in Glen Ellyn. This is the first time I've ever had to sign a formal lease, complete with a realtor, credit checks, and proof of employment. That last bit is up to Meredith, since I'm on the job hunt.

My full time tutoring job in Oak Park is over. Now that I'm not spending 8 hours a day raising my voice to get the attention of ADD* kids, I've notice Frederick has moved out. (Frederick was the headache who moved into the back of my brain for about four weeks. It would be impolite not to name a pet who stays around for so long.) I can't say I miss Frederick.

I didn't realize how much it was all getting to me: asking the same question over and over without a response, searching the bathrooms and closets for hiding children, trying to hold off tantrums over everything from the sound "oi" makes to untied shoelaces. (There's no telling what will set off an OCD kid.)

For the moment, I'm a "coach" at a "grammar camp" at The Reading Tree. This means I teach a couple of kids to diagram sentences for two hours a day. I keep being amazed at simple things -- these kids answer questions when I ask. They make eye contact. They laugh at jokes. They make me feel sane. I want to give them hugs. But, since I've had training and experience with more severe kids, I'm valuable to the company. If they get a dyslexic or Autistic kid, I'm the one they'll call, and that will give me more clients.

I'm still looking for some kind of stable job, though, whether part or full time. But not this weekend. This weekend, I'm moving to a grown-up apartment with Meredith.



*I do not use the terms ADD or OCD lightly. These are kids who try so hard but can't pay attention, or who are so compulsive that they will wash their hands raw. The Oak Park kids were all either ADD, Autistic, dyslexic, or otherwise developmentally behind. I noticed several of them were adopted at the age of 4 or 5, meaning that, while other kids were learning their alphabet and basic problem solving skills, these kids were bouncing from one foster home or orphanage to another. That said, when one boy on the Autism spectrum throws a tantrum, the other spectrum kids get upset, and the ADD kids can't pay attention. Frederick didn't like it, either.

---

You're the same as you started
You just jump a little higher

You will be hearing from us shortly

Because of a Lindamood-Bell scheduling fluke, I have tomorrow (Tuesday) off. And because Lindamood-Bell is a seasonal job, I am spending tonight and tomorrow applying for more permanent jobs. So is my roommate. It makes us punchy.

I have applied to charter schools and coffee shops, children's museums and publishing houses, over 55 in all since I started sending out my resume in March. Dr. Gauthier said at church yesterday that searching for a job causes the same amount of stress in your body as the death of a family member. I am starting to believe him.

---

You feel adequate to the demands of this position?
What qualities to you feel you
Personally have to offer?

Ah

Let us consider your application form.
Your qualifications, though impressive, are
Not, we must admit, precisely what
We had in mind. Would you care
To defend your relevance?

Indeed

Now your age. Perhaps you feel able
To make your own comment about that,
Too? We are conscious ourselves
Of the need for a candidate with precisely
The right degree of immaturity.

So glad we agree

And now a delicate matter: your looks.
You do appreciate this work involves
Contact with the actual public? Might they,
Perhaps, find your appearance
Disturbing?

Quite so

And your accent. That is the way
You have always spoken, is it? What
Of your education? Were
You educated? We mean, of course,
Where were you educated?
And how
Much of a handicap is that to you,
Would you say?
Married, children,
We see. The usual dubious
Desire to perpetuate what had better
Not have happened at all. We do not
Ask what domestic disasters shimmer
Behind that vaguely unsuitable address.

And where you born -- ?

Yes. Pity.

So glad we agree.

- U. A. Fanthorpe

We create the magic of learning.

These are magic stones. They are plastic and shiny and cheap, and kids covet them. We use them at work to buy students' cooperation.

I'm working for the summer at a tutoring center. I work with eight students a day for one hour each. My youngest kid has been 8; my oldest thus far has been 17.

Most of the students are used to failure and have self-esteem problems. Part of my job is to keep that frustration away by using "positive error handling technique," which is a cross between improv's "Yes, And" principle and the Socratic method. Basically, when a kid gives a wrong answer, I'm supposed to affirm something about her response. Then, instead of telling her the answer, I'm supposed to help her figure it out for herself, then shower her with praise (in the form of stones) when she gets the answer right.

That works 80%, and it keeps morale up. But a few times a day, this error handling technique leads to one of the following sorts of conversations.


"George" is 14 years old. He has Autism, which means that he can read and remember words but can't necessarily picture what they mean.

Me: "The girl ran through the tall grass." What do those words make you picture?

George: The girl ran through the tall grass.

Me: Great! Those were the words. Now tell me what that made you picture in your head.

George: The girl ran through the tall grass.

Me: Yes, she did. What do you picture for the girl?

George: Ran through the tall grass.

Me: Yes, that's what she's doing. What does she look like?

George: The girl ran through the tall grass.

Me: Is the girl tall or short?

George: Tall grass.

Me: The grass is tall. You're right. What about the girl?

George: The girl ran through the tall grass.

More often, though, George just doesn't answer me, and I find myself wondering if I've turned mute or invisible, or maybe have just asked such an idiotic question that I'm not worth answering. After all, I'm repeating myself over and over, too, and we could be stuck in this perfect echolalial circle forever.


"John" is 12, athletic, and goofy. He spent pre-school through first grade in and out of the hospital for multiple heart surgeries, so he never caught on to phonics, much less reading.

<I hold up an "oi" flashcard.>

Me: What do these letters say?

John: "Aw."

Me: Oh, good, I did see vowels. When you say "aw," what's the first letter you picture?

John: W.

Me: Great! I did see a W in "aw." Did you see anything before the W?

John: O.

Me: You're right that there was another vowel before the W. What would O-W say?

John: "oi."

Me: Yeah, I definitely pictured an O in "oi." What's the second letter you picture in "oi"?

John: H.

Me: H is a letter, you're right. Let's look at the card again.

John: Ee.

Me: I would hear a little "ee" sound in there at the end. How would you say the whole thing?

John: I!

Me: Oh! I did see an I in there. Did you see it coming first or last?

John: In the middle.

Me: Um, ok. This actually says oi.

John: That's what I said!

Me: You did say parts of it, you're right. Touch the card and say it again.

John: Oi.

Me: GREAT! Give me a high five! You got it! Let's see how fast we can do the next ones, ok?

<I hold up F, Qu, Ee, Ll, and Oi, to see if he can remember Oi when he's not thinking so hard.>

John: Fff! Qua! Ee! Lll! Ooo!

Me: You got those first several perfectly! Let's look at this last one. What's that second letter?

John: I.

Me: Awesome! So what do O and I say when they're together?

John: Aw.

He is so insistent that I wonder if I need my glasses prescription updated, or if I actually remember what O and I say together. That particular curriculum is called Seeing Stars, which is what I do after an hour of desperately blurting out anything positive I can say.

Those are my two most severe kids so far. The others correct themselves pretty easily, they respond to questions, they read Frog and Toad Are Friends with me, and, best of all, they are easily bribed with magic stones. As a temporary job, it definitely beats data entry. At the end of the summer, though, the kids will head back to regular school, and I could be unemployed again.

I may attach baggies of magic stones to my application cover letters from now on.

Well, in this economy ...

I have followed Career Service's advice this semester and applied for jobs. Lots of jobs. Over 50 at this point, everything Monster, CareerBuilder and Craigslist could give me for the Chicago Area. I've sent my resume everywhere from the American Girl Place to the American Nuclear Society.

Last week, I got an email asking for a phone interview about a comedy writing position. I'll call the interviewer "Gary." I was slightly suspicious to begin with, since Googling the nonsense words in Gary's email signature pulled up an inordinant number of furry event calendars. I didn't want to jump to conclusions, but I did spend most of the following conversation trying hard to avoid imagining Gary in a fox costume.


Me: What kind of comedy writers are you looking for?

Gary: Funny ones.

Me: Right. What kind, though? Stage? Screen? Sketch?

Gary: Screen. We're working on a sitcom.

Me: What's the premise?

Gary: I can't tell you a lot, since it hasn't come out yet, and there are intellectual property laws. I can tell you it's about an oddly matched set of roommates.

My head: Like Friends or Gilligan's Island or Laverne and Shirley or the Odd Couple or Three's Company or Will and Grace or ... or ... or ...

Me: What level of content are you looking for?

Gary: Dense. Juicy. More Simpsons than Family Guy.

Me: How will it be rated?

Gary: Highly, I hope. We're shooting for a big audience.

Me: I guess I'm trying to find out what your target audience is. What kind of comedy is this?

Gary: Why do you care? Is there any kind of comedy you won't write?

Me: Well, I'm a Christian, so there are some boundaries I'll want to respect.

Gary: We are into pushing boundaries here. Why don't you come by the office, and we'll see if you're a good match for our team. Is this weekend good?

Me: Would next week work? I'm graduating from college this weekend.

Gary: Congratulations! What college?

Me: Wheaton College.

Gary: Oh. So the Christian thing ... that wasn't a joke?

Me: No.

Gary: You're serious?

Me: Yes.

Gary: Christians make me want to gouge out my own eyes.

Me: Ok.

Gary: Also, you might as well know, this sitcom is going to be mostly NC17/X. A Wheaton graduate wouldn't be a good fit for us.

Me: Probably not. Thanks for your time.


That is one for the Career Services webpage.

I'm glad he told me he was looking for comedic porn (pornographic comedy?) writers before I took a trip into the city to interview in person.

And so job search continues.